Chapter Text
It’s over. Operation Strix has proved itself a success as Agent Twilight victoriously infiltrated Donovan Desmond’s social circle and gained the intelligence needed to prevent a war brewing between the East and West.
Operation Strix is over. The mission is complete. Which means Twilight must now retire the identity of Loid Forger and everything that came with it.
Twilight knew this day would come. Of course it would. He had been working on this mission for the past two years. Two years of playing psychiatrist, a husband, a father for the sake of world peace. He knew when the mission had completed, he would leave and that was it. The agency would fabricate a story on Loid’s disappearance, or maybe his death, and provide Yor and Anya whatever they needed to ensure they continue their lives comfortably.
Without him.
And he would be assigned on another mission, in another place, with a new identity.
Without them.
Twilight knew this day would come and yet …
“You’re awfully quiet considering you successfully completed probably the biggest mission in agency history. What’s wrong?” the Handler asked.
Twilight shook his head and gave a small smile. “Nothing. Just glad it’s finally over.”
“Do you want to go home and spend time with your family? You know, before you —“
“No,” Twilight said. He stood up from his chair and shrugged on his coat. “The mission is over. I must give up Loid Forger’s name now before anything else happens. Besides, it’s better this way.”
The Handler sighed as she watched him head to the door.
“I’ll be on the lookout for the next mission.”
- x -
Loid should’ve been back yesterday. I wonder if he’s okay.
Yor was peeking behind the curtains of the living room. It wasn’t strange for Loid to go on business trips. He had been doing it often, saying he was extending his research further out into the country and needed to collect more data, and that he’d be back within x number of days. And he always came back within those x number of days. But it’s been a day past now and Yor couldn’t help but worry.
Would it be too much if I called the hospital and asked?
- x -
Knocks on the front door awakened Yor. She gasped, checking her surroundings to see she wasn’t in her room but on the couch in the living room. She had fallen asleep.
“Loid?” She said, walking towards the door.
When she opened the door, she was met not of her husband, but of a man and a woman in black suits. The woman had blondish hair that was tied back in a ponytail, while the man stood at a larger stature in black sunglasses.
“Good morning. Is this the Forger residence?” the woman asked.
“Ah, yes,” Yor replied. “How may I help you?”
“My name is Claire Wolfhart with the Secret Police,” she said, flashing her credentials. “This is my colleague, Samuel Concord. May we come in?”
“I’m sorry, but what is this about?”
“This is about your husband, Loid Forger.”
“Come on in.” Yor steps to the side and the two strangers take their seat in the living room.
“What is this about Loid?” Yor asks. She could feel her palms already sweating. Did they find out that we faked our marriage?!
“Mrs. Forger, when was the last time you saw your husband?” the woman asked.
“About four days ago. We got ready for work, saw our daughter off at the bus stop, and went our separate ways. He was suppose to be back from a business trip two days ago but hasn’t come yet. I’m actually getting really worried. He hasn’t called or left any messages. I stayed up last night to wait for him, but I fell asleep and I thought it was him knocking on the door. D-did you need something from him?”
Claire and Samuel look back at each other. “Ma’am, there was an incident at Berlint General Hospital yesterday. A patient went on a rampage and was attacking other patients. Loid Forger was there to stop the patient through his use of concussive therapy but it backfired on him. The therapy didn’t work on the patient, and as a result, the individual involved your husband in the lives harmed.”
“What are you saying?”
Claire puts her hand on top of Yor’s trembling ones. “Your husband fought hard. But his fight was not enough to battle through the life-threatening injuries he sustained. I regret to inform you that Loid Forger has —“
“You’re wrong.”
Yor and the Secret Police personnel whipped their heads to the hallway to find Anya with her head hung low. “Papa’s not dead. You’re wrong.”
“Anya …” Yor stood up from the couch, a tear streaming down her cheek.
“You’re wrong! Papa wouldn’t leave us! He wouldn’t! He’s happy here and he loves us! He wouldn’t leave! He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t!”
Yor bent down to hug Anya as a sob escaped from her mouth.
“I’m so sorry, Anya,” Yor shakily whispered.
“Mrs. Forger, we’re very sorry for your loss. Your husband was a respectable man in the medical community and was admired by many.” Claire pulled out a large manila envelope from her coat. “In here are documents signed by your husband himself, entrusting a will to you and your daughter.”
“He’s not coming back, is he?” Anya asked.
Claire looked at the child sympathetically and bent down to face her. “Listen here, Anya. There’s nothing more precious than a parent’s love. And your father loved you and your mother more than anything in this world. Everything he did until his last breath was to ensure that you both live a life full of comfort and peace.”
“But I don’t want that life,” Anya sniffed, fighting back tears.
“Eh?”
“I don’t want a life without Papa. I’d rather live in the jungle hunting for food if it means I get to be with Papa and Mama. The three of us and Bond, together.”
Anya stood up from the couch.
“I don’t know how to talk to the dead. Can you tell Papa I’ll miss him?”
Five months later
Sometimes after a mission, Twilight would go to Ostania’s capitol to see them. Just to check on them. He’d disguise himself as an elderly at the dog park. Bond still remembers the tricks I taught him. He’d disguise himself as the postal man delivering their mail. The apartment looks the same. He’d disguise himself as a cashier at the supermarket Yor frequents. She has been more specific in the ingredients she buys which means she’s been cooking more. He’d pose as a janitor at Eden Academy. Anya is doing much better in Math. Sometimes, he’d simply just watch from afar from a dark alley, from the top of a hill or a building, or as someone passing by.
The train Twilight rode is en route to the station closest to the Forger residence. It is also the train Yor happens to be on. She’s standing in front of him holding onto a handle, her focus looking downward so as to not make eye contact with others who might be looking at the reflecting window, or maybe she's simply thinking. He’s dressed as himself, except his hair is black under a hat and he has a beard. He can feel Yor’s warmth with the small space in between them as the train is packed with people who are also going home. She smells like how she always does, like powder and fresh roses. He sees her other hand limp at her side and it takes everything in him to not lace his fingers through hers. If only he could hold her like he used to. If only things weren't the way they were now. He’d give anything just to hold Yor again.
The train stops and Twilight heads for the opening doors first.
“Loid?” Twilight hears from behind. He could feel his heart race. Shit. But his feet keep him going, as if he hadn’t heard his wife her call out his name because damn it, he's supposed to be dead. That is until he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Loid?” His blue eyes meet with big red ones. Yor. He can look at her better now that they’re facing each other, compared to when they were in the train. He notices the small bags forming underneath her eyes, the cut she has on her chin, the length of her bangs a little longer, and the somberness clouding her eyes.
“Hm?” he says in a deeper tone, taking off his hat. “Is something the matter?”
Yor pulled her hand away from his shoulder. “Ah! I’m so sorry. I thought you were my husband for a second there. You both looked the same from the back.” Her face started to brighten red from embarrassment. “I-I’m so sorry!”
His hand reached out towards her. “No, it’s o—“ Wait. But she had already scurried to the stairs of the station before he could stop her.
He follows her to their home and watches as she lightly taps her forehead with her fingers.
Stupid, stupid! What are you doing, Yor? You’re going insane. How could you even mistake someone else for a man who’s already passed, let alone that man be your husband?
She reaches the front of 128 Park Way and looks up to the second floor where she knows will be empty, with the exception of Bond, when she comes in. Anya will be home in about an hour.
Yor sighs. “I just miss you is all.”
- x -
“You know, there’s a fine line between spying and stalking. And you, my friend, are on the latter of it,” Franky said, sipping his cognac.
Twilight didn’t answer.
“You know it’s forbidden to engage with previous targets. I warned you before to not develop feelings. We all knew that this was how things were going to end. That you were to disappear after the mission with Desmond was complete, like all your other missions, and the agency would handle the rest. Why are you making it complicated by coming back?”
“I’m not coming back,” Twilight states.
“But you want to come back.”
“And so what if I do, Franky? Is that so bad? To come back to the life I realize I’ve always wanted for myself? To have a family? To love and be loved by someone?”
So he finally admits it. “You’re a spy, Twilight. You’re not Loid Forger. You can’t have what he had. And you know that more than anyone.”
“I know," Twilight claims, swirling around the scotch in his cup, "which is why I’m not coming back. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”
Franky sighs. “You’re making it harder for yourself, you know, by always checking up on them. They’re going to be fine. They’re doing just fine.”
- x -
He has to stop this. He has to move on. He has more things to think about than two people and a dog he no longer has business with anymore. But how can he? When at the end of the day, all he wants to see is them.
To have dinner with them. To spend the evening watching Spy Wars with Anya. To drink wine with Yor. To walk Bond to the dog park. To have Franky babysit so he and Yor can go on a date. To go on trips as a family. To come home to Anya hugging his leg and Bond licking his face. To come home to Yor’s smile after a long day. To tuck Anya into her bed. To have his arms wrapped around Yor’s warm body in theirs.
But he can’t. Because Twilight is a spy. And being a spy means sacrificing one’s self for the greater good. The mission was over and that was that. He just needed a distraction as a way for him to move on.
And so he worked.
He worked and worked, and when there were no missions, he worked at Headquarters on even the most minuscule tasks. Anything to keep him busy.
That is until the Handler got so sick of seeing his face at Headquarters and ordered him to not come into work for the next two weeks.
“You can’t do that,” Twilight says.
“As your commanding officer, yes, I can. And it’s effective immediately,” the red haired woman said while flipping through a stack of papers.
“But —“
The Handler slammed the stack of papers on her desk, sending jolts to everyone else in the room except for Twilight himself.
“We can depend on you all we want, Twilight, but you’re taking away all the work from the new recruits. Now, leave!” she said with finality.
And so there was Twilight, standing on the streets of Berlint in disguise on a clear Friday afternoon, with nothing to do. It’d been seven months since he was last here.
He sees from a distance a park he remembers they once visited back in the early days of their makeshift family. He exhales a long sigh and it was then he realized how tired he was and how so much time had passed.
I like to come here every so often, whenever I’m feeling exhausted from my job.
He basks in the feeling of the cool air as he rests his arms on the railings where they once held a small pink haired girl, footsteps and the sound of children laughing in the background, the stillness of the buildings and the cumulous clouds above bringing him back to the days when his longest mission also became his shortest.
“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?”